


Punishment

by doctorcanon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dimitri is just there, Felix Hugo Fraldarius Being an Asshole, Felix gets roasted, Fighting, M/M, Not exactly violent, Pre-Relationship, Short, Sparring, Tactless but wise Byleth, felix-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-30 20:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21146468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorcanon/pseuds/doctorcanon
Summary: Felix has been getting on everyone's nerves lately, particularly with his training. Everyone starts avoiding him. Luckily, Sylvain is there to take the edge off but even he has his limits.





	Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written to be a part of the Fire Emblem AU I'm writing but it works well with canon. Just a little tidbit I wrote while bored at work. Enjoy. :)

Felix has been insufferable these last few days but he doesn't know how to stop. With the Professor's new training, he excels in hand to hand combat. He might even be fast enough to be a brawler. While nothing can replace the feeling of a blade in his hands, the thought of being able to beat an enemy without one is exhilarating. However, this has given him a rather unique problem. No one wants to spar with him. Leonie won't fight him one on one. Mostly because she's not trained to. He respects that so he hasn't asked her again. Ashe actually ran from him. Ingrid is just tired of him. Dorothea won't even spare him a few magic obstacles. After their last session, she griped at him for fifteen minutes about how late it was and called him an addict. Him. An addict. Right. You can't be addicted to fighting. It isn't opium or caffeine. As a soldier you either fight or you die. Those who won't hone their skills are cannon fodder. He must keep fighting. He must survive or be left by the wayside along with the other corpses. He doesn't greet The Professor, Sylvain or his royal beastliness as they stride into the training grounds with Javelins and a pieces of a destroyed training dummy.

“There's a fine line between humility and self-deprecation.” The Professor says. Felix rolls his eyes as he continues beating the rotating dummy. “That self defeating attitude won't accomplish anything.” Felix risks a look back. Dimitri is _covered_ in bruises. Probably something to do with that new technique Catherine and The Professor have been teaching him, but that doesn't explain why the hell _Sylvain_ is here.

“Yeah, man, I actually thought I might die after that last round.” Sylvain says. He's topless, panting and covered in sweat. Shameless. Felix sucks his teeth in disgust.

“You've still got time, go see Manuela at the infirmary. Get that welt on your back looked at.” The Professor advises. “She has special salts you can use in the baths. Follow her directions. Or tomorrow is going to be _even more painful_.” The Professor never goes out of his way to sound particularly kind. It sounds more like a threat than advice.

“Yes, Professor.” The Boar replies, dutiful as always. “And thank you for your tutelage. Will we be practicing like this tomorrow?” He asks.

“No, only basic conditioning tomorrow.” Professor Eisner replies. Dimitri seems disappointed. “Trust me, the next two days are going to be rough on your body. Even though you don't feel it now, everything will hurt.”

“And what about me?” Sylvain squawks.

“What _about _you?” The Professsor shoots back, arching an eyebrow. Sylvain knows better than to argue.

“Regardless, than you so much for your help.” Dimitri says. “You too, Sylvain. I forgot how resilient you are. It's almost deceitful.”

“It's part of my charm.” Sylvain coos. “Seriously though, get a soak before the adrenaline wears off or you'll be dragging yourself to bed.” Dimitri bows, like a good little boar and scurries away to follow directions. When Felix turns back to his dummy, he ends up making direct eye contact with Professor Eisner.

“If you're going to gawk, you can help clean up.” The Professor says. He's a master of the stoic mask but his voice betrays his annoyance. There's a moment of silence, daring him to decline. Felix Hugo Fraldarius never backs down from a dare.

“Then I won't gawk.” He says. He sees the Professor's eye twitch before he turns around back to the dummy but Sylvain has already slithered his way over leaning on his current training partner.

“C'mon Felix, don't be like that.” Sylvain says. “The professor and I work just as hard as you do. Besides you've been in here almost all day. You need food _and a shower._” Felix scowls. He will not let Sylvain talk down to him.

“Fight me.” He says pushing the dummy. Sylvain just holds up his free hand in mock surrender. His laugh grates on Felix's every nerve. This red haired idiot is always in his way. He can't do anything quietly. And he's always sucking up to Professor Eisner who clearly wants to be anywhere but here. It seems even a mercenary can tire of fighting.

“No, I don't think I will.” Sylvain says still laughing in that hollow, mirthless way of his. How frivolous. Felix knows when he's being made fun of.

“Fight me.” Felix demands again. Sylvain looks to The Professor for help. The older man just shrugs. Felix takes the initiative by ripping one of the three training weapons Sylvain carries out of his hand; the sword. The axe clatters to the floor leaving Sylvain with the Lance. It's has scorch marks on it. For moment, Felix swears he sees a flash of...something. Maybe anger? Annoyance? Frustration? Whatever it is, Felix kicks the discarded axe out of the way. “Spar with me, Sylvain.” He needs to spar with someone or he might just claw his skin off with the unspent energy coursing through him. Sylvain just smirks.

“Alright then, you asked for it.” He says. The Professor lets out an audible groan. He's hungry, sweaty and not in the mood for Felix's bullshit. But if anyone can peel him away from that dummy so he can lock up for the day, it's Sylvain. “Mind giving us some conditions, Professor?”

“First disarmed wins.” He says. Tough conditions, but Felix seems quite manic tonight. If Dimitri's a boar, Felix is a falcon; the kind bred by Srengi Warlords to hunt and tear the eyes out of unsuspecting scouts. Sometimes, he's just as fragile. Sylvain doesn't seem worried. “Paces.” His students take three paces away from each other. “Positions.” Each take their respective stances.

One of the first things Byleth noticed about his students is that the ones from Faergus are far more traditional. There very little cause for flash in a nation that lives by the sword. They aren't like The Alliance where performers use their swords to choreograph elaborate dance routines. Nor are they like the empire where they use blunted swords on stage for the battle scenes in their shows. No, in the cold, savage land of Faergus, weapons are only used for their intended purposes. This is when these two are in their purest form. Weapons pointed down and at the ready, weight on one leg, ready to pounce with the other. With a few exceptions, students from Faergus are the only ones who have seen actual combat.

“Begin!”

Unsurprisingly, Felix moves first eager to show of his new training. Because of his height, he favors the underhand swing as an opening move. It usually works but Sylvain knows Felix a little too well and blocks it with a quick blow to the wrist. Byleth sighs and rolls his eyes. Sylvain should stop playing with his food. Felix recovers quickly, making a gutsy grab for Sylvain's spear. Sometimes, if you grab and wrench the spear in the right direction, you can yank it right out of a pikeman's hand but the Sylvain's spear _bends_. Sylvain uses that brief moment of shock against him a swats him across the face. He could've easily split the inside of his cheek but he's really just ready to go.

“What kind of spear is that?” It's not a question.

“A Dagdan War Pike. It's made of bamboo.” Sylvain says. “What, you think you're the only one getting _special training_?” Felix wants to beat the smug out of him. He dashes forward without responding. He's well versed on getting around the reach of a pike no matter what it's made of. But something about the spear's new, springy nature keeps throwing him off. When he blocks overhead, the spear nearly bends far enough to hit him in the back. When he bends back, the spear passes over his face twice. It's not impossible, but it's new and frustrating. His jabs are slightly delayed and difficult to block. There's more drag on the weapon. He has to block with much more force. Felix starts to realize that his stamina is actually wearing thin. The Spear is top heavy so it flops back and forth in a vastly irregular pattern. Felix quickly learns that he can't block every one of his jabs and ends up with his ass on the floor for his trouble.

“Damn you, Sylvain.” Felix growls out. “Are you relying on gimmicks to win now?”

“The lovely Professor Shamir taught me this herself. I hardly call it a gimmick.” Sylvain scoffs. “Do you yield?” Felix spits on the floor and clamors to his feet. Sylvain sighs. “C'mon man, it's late. I'm hungry. It's been a long day.” Felix takes his position.

“Either take my challenge seriously or admit defeat.” He spits. Sylvain shrugs.

“Fine. I admit...” Felix doesn't let him finish and aims low. Sylvain blocks him but that smug grin is gone. In fact, he looks a little angry. “Felix. Come on.” No. He will not _come on_, he will continue to fight and if Sylvain doesn't like that he can sit here and get his ass kicked like a respectable opponent. “Felix.” It's a warning. Sylvain doesn't sound like that often. He hates it when Felix gets like this. He's too stubborn to realize that he's running on nothing but spite and adrenaline and then he's bitchy the next day like fatigue is mystery to him. He's not an enabler. He won't feed Felix's addiction to adrenaline or...whatever this is. The Professor won't help. He's a grown ass man who's smart enough not to get involved. Unfortunately, Felix has never been the studious type.

“Be a man, Sylvain. Stand your ground and fight.” For someone who claims that he doesn't ask like a noble, Felix is awfully demanding. Byleth thinks. He keeps his mouth shut, of course. There's a lesson to be learned here for both of his students. “How do you expect to take your place at the head of the War Council if you can't even take your fights seriously?” Slash. Block. Jab.

“Oh? And I suppose you're ready to pore over your father's economic requisitions?” Sylvain spits back. Dash. Jump. Overhead Swing.

“It's not a matter of being ready.” Felix says defensively. Block. Spin. Low Jab. “The strong survive, that's all there is to it.”

“Lots of strong people die, Felix.” Sylvain says. His hand's are shaking. They aren't as used to the new spear as he's led Felix to believe. Weapons from Faergus are as hard and inflexible as the land iitself. He might be a duplicitous lech, but he's not his father. _I loved Glenn too_, he wants to say but it's just more of the same. Everyone loved Glenn. It doesn't need to be said.

“I won't be one of them.” Felix declares. The practice sword scrapes at his palms. He'll have to wear gloves tomorrow. He won't lose his form. Not against Sylvain: the slacker and philanderer who expects his crest to do the work for him. He's just like his father; all bluster and bravado until he loses that legendary lance of his. Margrave Gautier came running to the church like a child who's lost his favorite toy. The thought of Sylvain becoming another one of those Nobles in his father's sitting room, smoking cigars and groping maids. It makes him sick. He jumps back from one of Sylvain's jabs and they stand apart again. Sylvain drops his stance.

“You know what? I'm done. I'm not doing this with you tonight.” Sylvain says pointing a finger at him. Felix will not be scolded like a child.

“So you're running from me now?” Felix goads. Sylvain just flips him off as he walks by him. “What a disappointment.” Though he's not sure what he's referring to. Sylvain doesn't even have that infamous Gautier Temperament. He never raises his voice. He's not a violent person. A tactical thinker, he doesn't have many buttons to push. Even if he did, you would have to dig to find them.

“I don't know what you want from me.” That's what a coward says when they give up.

“I want you to take things seriously.” Felix retorts. “You're reckless in battle and in your personal life. You're always prattling on about women, skipping training or conspiring with other people. You're lax in your passions and even more lax in maintaining them.” He points his sword at Sylvain's back. “Do you even want to go back to Faergus?” It's not rhetorical but Sylvain doesn't answer. Felix expects to be angry but he's not. Instead, he feels cold. Goddess, how far has he fallen for Sylvain to hurt him by doing absolutely nothing? This is a fight. He must retaliate. “So your brother died for nothing then. I suppose we have that in common.”

Suddenly, Sylvain charges him. If Felix hadn't had his weapon pointed out, he wouldn't have been able to block it. He barely does. Felix might be the faster fighter but Sylvain is stronger. He can take a lot of abuse. Sylvain lets Felix hit him just to throw him off balance. Felix falls for it twice, nearly getting thrown off his feet. Sylvain turns vicious. He doesn't let up even for a second. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't even make a single battle cry. Felix stumbles like Sylvain hit him full on in the chest with that last block. Sylvain side steps fast enough to hit Felix in the back of the neck. He won't let him regain his footing. Not even Dimitri can throw him off balance like this. Felix flails. The blunted rubber spear head nearly breaks his fingers. He might've had a moment to catch his sword before it hit the ground but Sylvain twists him around with a hard hip check, then a thrust to the stomach. If there was anything in it, he might've thrown up. Then Sylvain pivots and Felix already knows what's coming. In the next second, his feet are swept from under him. He hits the floor and the rooms splits.

By the time it pulls itself together, he's staring at the point of Sylvain's spear. He wonders if he can still reach for his sword but he doesn't even see it. He tries to twist himself out of Sylvain's hold but the man's foot is on his chest. He jerks his body to free himself but Sylvain doesn't move. Felix catches a glimpse of Sylvain's white hot rage. Eye wide, nostrils flared complete with a white knuckle grip on his new warpike but that's not what Felix cares about. Boiling tears cloud his friends eyes. It's so brief, a lesser man would miss it. All the fight goes out of Felix at once. Adrenaline gone, the thrill of battle lost to a foreign, sinking sensation. Guilt. Suddenly, he can't catch his breath. Everything hurts.

“I yield.” Felix grinds through clenched teeth. Sylvain says nothing. The tears don't fall but he doesn't break eye contact with Felix as throws the spear aside. He doesn't help Felix up. Instead, he turns on his heel and leaves the training ground.

“Felix.” He almost forgot Professor Eisner was even here. “Get up and help me clean.” Felix doesn’t move. The floor is oddly comfortable. “Now.” He supposes that he’s lost their little battle so he rolls up to his feet with an exhausted sigh. His back and arms creak in protest. He gathers his sword and Sylvain’s spear. He twirls it in his hands. It’s much lighter. Normally someone with Sylvain’s strength would be useless with something like this. He must be trying to improve his dexterity. It’s about time he put his ambidextrous hands to good use. The Professor fixes him with a glare.

“You’re not going to lecture me, are you?” Felix asks flatly.

“The fact that you even have to ask me that tells me that you know you’ve messed up.” Blunt as always, professor. Felix sighs. His overtired body sinks with disappointment.

“Am I that easy to read?” Felix asks, not expecting an answer.

“Yes.” But the Professor's wisdom spares no one. “In fact, I'd say for someone who so readily criticizes the other nobles, you're quite spoiled yourself.” Felix wonders if the man has any self preservation at all.

“Come again?” He dares the man to repeat himself. Too bad Byleth doesn't know what intimidation feels like.

“You're spoiled.” He reiterates, knowing that exhaustion is the only thing that keeps Felix from hitting him. “Take it from a commoner. All nobles are the same. Especially when you're trying not to be. You have everything a person could want but you treat it like a burden.” Felix doesn't know how to respond to that. No one talks to him like this. Not even Sylvain. Even the basest mercenaries watch their tongues around him. But not Professor Eisner. It's not that he doesn't care for propriety. He's polite even in the worst of times. He's not the most tactful, but he's sincerity incarnate. Honestly, The Professor is the wisest man he knows. He should've known that one day his sharp tongued insight would be turned on him. How pathetic to be caught off guard by the inevitable.

“It's not my fault that they hold me back.” Felix bites. The Professor is unimpressed.

“Wow, you didn't even have to ask me to elaborate.” He says. Felix sucks his teeth, angry at himself for exposing his own weak spot. “Then I'll make this quick.” The Professor shuts the small armory and locks it. “If you keep pushing people away, it's going to work one day. And then you'll accuse them of abandoning you when really you left them in the first place.” He straightens the last training dummy and Felix just stares at him dumbly. Good. It's about time this kid shut his mouth. Another thing he's noticed about his students from Faergus is that they're all stubborn as hell. “You can't keep punishing your friends for how you feel.”

Felix was five when he first had the wind knocked out of him. He fell from the tree he climbed and fell flat on his back. It wasn't very high, but it was scary enough. When Sylvain came running back with Glenn, he started to cry when he was already struggling to catch his breath. Naturally, he started to hyperventilate. He felt his body go weak and his eyes roll back but a splash of water brought him back. This is much worse. There's no splash of water, he's not surrounded by his friends worried faces or cradled by his panicking brother. He's alone and Glenn is dead. His legs forget to stand for a moment and he just sits down where he is. He feels dizzy all of the sudden. He's probably dehydrated. The Professor lets him think.

He certainly feels _something._ Soldiers should always have a little hunger. He needs to be stronger. He must keep improving and climbing. But there's something deeper, more primal clawing at him more and more each day. It's distracting him. That's why he's so desperate for a fight. He can't spend one minute idle. He can't stand to let his mind wander these days when he feels like he could be overtaken by this unknowable pining at any moment. What's worse is that there's no name for it. He's never felt it before. It even comes to him in his dreams. At best, it feels like hope, useless and paralyzing like Sylvain. At it's worst, it's a pit that's just dragging him further in like the girls in Sylvain's room. He never sees their faces, but those incessant giggles are worse than the sounds of a rabid beast. But most days it just burns; a constant ache throughout the day, just like Sylvain's insistent pestering. When he's alone, it's like fire. Hot, bright and consistent just like Sylvain...

Oh.

_You can't keep punishing people for how you feel. _Felix scrambles to his feet and heads for the door. He needs to find Sylvain and make him apologize. No. _He _needs to apologize. No, they just need to _talk_. Whatever. He doesn't care they just need to...he can't leave what happened just now unaddressed. The Professor is always right. Why doesn't anyone ever realize that? Speaking of The Professor, Felix turns on his heel and bows hastily, minding his manners for once. Byleth decides not to make him suffer.

“Good night, Felix.” The younger boy bolts off into the sunset. He won't get far. Muscle fatigue will get him before he finds Sylvain. Byleth doesn't know much about matters of the heart but he does know that Felix's attitude has seriously affected morale for the last three weeks. If Sylvain wasn't there to take the edge off, Byleth isn't sure how he'd keep the other students from strangling him. Even Dimitri started to lose his patience. With a growl from his stomach, Byleth decides that these thoughts are better left for another night. He locks the Training Hall doors and sets off to _finally_ get something to eat.

**Author's Note:**

> Feelings are complicated. come find me on Tumblr, if you like.


End file.
